Someday My Prince
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A woman looking for love becomes Snow White for a weekend and winds up with a twist ending to the old fairy tale. Follows 'Roarke's Family'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This is a story in progress, so chapters will go up as I get the chance to post them. There are still some 20 story ideas waiting to be written, and for all I know there may yet be other ideas. Also, if you're a non-writer (or a non-FI writer) but have an idea or two you'd like to see developed, suggestions are welcome—just send a private message. Many thanks to Harry2, jtbwriter and Kyryn once again!_

**Disclaimer:** Fantasy Island _is the brainchild of Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt, and Roarke and Tattoo are their characters. Everyone else is mine; if you want to borrow anybody, just ask!  
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§ § § -- September 25, 1999

Since Leslie's stepbrother, Jamie Marsh, had married and departed the island, it had been a very quiet summer—something that Roarke and Leslie had been more than glad about. After the first turbulent half of the year, they had been content to go about the usual business of granting fantasies and regaining some normalcy in their lives.

The news had been full of anticipatory stories, both serious and frivolous, of the upcoming momentous change of year, and by now both Roarke and Leslie were getting a little fed up with it all, if the truth were told. Roarke did, however, consult Christian about taking care of the so-called "Y2K threat" in regard to the island website; Christian had e-mailed him back after a couple of days that it would be a simple matter to change dates in the pertinent places. Because he had access to the master pages of the site from his own computer, he had been able to make all the changes from his own home in Lilla Jordsö's capital city of Sundborg—somewhat to Leslie's chagrin. Roarke had evinced amusement at her wish that the problem had necessitated a visit from Christian, and added whimsically that perhaps something Christian hadn't foreseen would crop up and he'd have to make the long trip after all. Overall, though, they didn't think too much about the whole thing; they agreed there had been enough excitement in the first six months of the year to last them till the inevitable New Year's Eve blowouts that were undoubtedly already well along in the planning stages.

Not only that, of course, but on any given weekend, the fantasies could easily cause enough excitement all on their own. On the final weekend in September, after Roarke had introduced a couple of overly enthusiastic paparazzi looking for sanctuary from the equally enthusiastic bodyguards of a fed-up celebrity, he watched a woman somewhat older than Leslie disembark from the charter, and suddenly smiled. "Ah, yes…Miss Caroline Shaw, aged thirty-eight, from Corpus Christi, Texas."

Leslie focused on the woman; she had shoulder-length dark curls and was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and looked thoroughly ordinary. "What's her fantasy?"

"She has never been married, and now that she is nearing her fortieth birthday, she is beginning to worry that she may never do so. To that end, she has decided to step up her search for her so-called Mr. Right; and as a part of that search, she has requested to play Snow White for the weekend," Roarke said.

Leslie gave him a dubious look. "You mean, she's so desperate that now she's actually looking for a literal Prince Charming?"

Roarke chuckled and remarked, "Something like that. To be completely honest, I myself am slightly perplexed. She seems attractive enough in her own way."

"It's possible," Leslie offered, "that she just hasn't been lucky enough to meet the right guy so far, and she's getting to the point where she's no longer sure she will. Let's face it: I read somewhere that once a woman hits forty, her chances of marrying absolutely plummet. Which I think is pretty crummy, really. How many fiftyish guys have charged off the plane looking for some college-age airhead to make them think they're young again?"

"Too many," Roarke said. "It seems that Miss Shaw considers herself a victim of that mentality, although I feel she's slightly premature in her thinking."

Leslie grinned. "It's never too early to panic," she cracked.

Roarke chuckled again, then accepted his glass and raised it to the new arrivals. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

‡ ‡ ‡

When she came into the main house, Caroline Shaw had changed from her jeans and T-shirt into shorts and a tank top, and there was an expression of high hope on her face. She reached right across the desk and shook hands with Roarke, then smiled brightly in greeting at Leslie. "No wonder you have hardly any pictures of the scenery on your website," she said. "There's no way you could capture the atmosphere of this island in a photograph."

"You're very kind, Miss Shaw," said Roarke. "Is there anything we can get you?"

"No thank you, Mr. Roarke, that drink I got at the plane dock brought me right back to life after the flights. I'm rarin' to go. When can I start my fantasy?"

"Immediately, if that is your wish," Roarke said, smiling.

Caroline paused a moment. "You mean…right this exact second? But isn't there anything I gotta do first?"

"Like what?" asked Leslie.

"Well, uh, change my clothes," Caroline said.

Leslie took in her attire. "You just did, if I'm not mistaken."

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about the blouse and bodice and yellow skirt and all that," Caroline explained.

Roarke looked vastly amused. "Ah, I see. You need not trouble yourself about such details, Miss Shaw. Everything will be taken care of once your fantasy begins. However, I should warn you that the entire thing will be real, and you should not underestimate the perils you'll find yourself in as Snow White. You'll have to think on your feet and rely on your instincts to get yourself through this. Remember, Snow White went through rather an ordeal before she got her prince."

"True," Caroline said, "but everybody knows how the story ended. I have to admit, I can't quite see how a kiss is gonna counteract the effects of poison, but on the other hand, it's probably the best cure going." She grinned, to their answering laughs. "So since I'm guaranteed a happy ending, I'm not gonna worry about it too much."

Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Don't be too cavalier, Miss Shaw," he said.

"All I gotta do is get the better of that mean old stepmother. I'm gonna have seven dwarves and a handsome prince to help me out. How can I lose?" said Caroline, beaming. "I'm ready anytime you are."

"Very well, then," Roarke said. "If you'll follow me, please." He and Leslie preceded Caroline out the French shutters, across the terrace and some twenty or so steps down one of the several paths that led therefrom. Then they stopped just in front of a pair of very large azalea bushes, both crammed from top to bottom with flowers in clear pink.

"How pretty," Caroline said appreciatively. "Wish mine'd bloom like that."

Roarke smiled. "These bushes mark the gateway to your fantasy," he told her. "Once you step through them, mind you, you won't be able to return until your fantasy has ended. Furthermore, there will be nothing I can do to halt or alter it, so I must ask you once more if you are very sure this is what you want."

Caroline eyed him. "Mr. Roarke, I'm not sure what you think is so ominous about this fantasy, but I can assure you, this is definitely what I want. When I think of the alternative, this option looks more and more attractive every second."

"What's the alternative?" Leslie asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes theatrically and declaimed in a voice of doom, "Singles bars."

Again Roarke and Leslie laughed. "You might have a point there," Leslie conceded cheerfully. "Well, then, good luck."

"I wish you the same, Miss Shaw," Roarke said, then stepped aside and gestured at the bushes. "Simply step between the bushes, and then follow the path."

"Thanks so much," Caroline said and grinned. "Well, bombs away." She pushed through the space between the bushes and promptly vanished from their sight.

Leslie lingered a moment when Roarke started back the way they'd come; he noticed her failure to follow and stopped. "Is there something wrong?"

"I was just trying to figure it out," she said, turning back. "What on earth possesses some people to go to such ridiculous extremes in the search for a life partner, anyway?"

Roarke's return glance was faintly reproachful. "Ours is not to question why, Leslie," he told her before starting back toward the house.

"Ha," she retorted, trailing in his wake. "Ours is but to do or die, huh? Well, I'm more than happy to do, but if I have to die, I better get a raise." Roarke's only response to that was something indecipherable in Spanish.

Caroline found herself trudging down a worn dirt path that led through what looked like deciduous forest, almost completely different from the tropical fauna that characterized Fantasy Island's wooded areas. Just when she'd begun to wonder if Roarke had been playing her for a fool, she rounded a sharp bend in the trail and abruptly beheld a large stone-block castle. So he'd been right after all. She trotted up to the gates, identified herself as Snow White to the guards there, and was allowed in, with odd looks but no comments.

Caroline began meandering through hallways, wondering what she was going to do next; but it wasn't long before she heard a voice crooning to someone or something. She stopped and listened, then grinned. It had to be the evil stepmother. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…" the voice intoned.

Smirking, Caroline peered around the doorway of the nearest room and spotted an extraordinarily lovely woman standing at a wall, preening in front of a very large mirror with a shining gold frame. "Who," the woman cooed, "is fairest of them all?"

_Well, lady, you've got nothing to worry about,_ Caroline thought. She knew she was average-looking, and that supermodel type standing in there could fear no competition from her. So it was quite a surprise when the mirror announced, in an eerily familiar voice, "My Queen, you are fair, 'tis true…but Snow White is lovelier than you."

"I don't believe it," shouted the queen. "Where is that little brat?" _Aha,_ thought Caroline, _modern-day vernacular. How come Mr. Roarke was warning me about all the problems I was going to have? There should be electricity and running water at least…_ The queen turned to the doorway then and spotted her watching, and shot across the room to grab the startled Caroline by the arm and drag her into the room. "So there you are. How convenient."

"That mirror's lying," Caroline said, rolling her eyes. "You're prettier than I am by a long shot, Stepmom. I mean, look at me."

"You idiot," said the queen and yanked her over to the mirror. "I don't know what you've been smoking out in the woods, but have a look for yourself." Caroline shrugged and stepped in front of the mirror, then gasped. Somewhere along the way, her unspectacular face had been transformed into a heart-shaped countenance with high cheekbones, full crimson lips, large, thickly lashed blue eyes, and even dimples in her cheeks. Her hair was a sleek, shining blue-black mass, the ends curving into large soft curls.

"Whoa," said Caroline.

"Yeah, as in 'woe is me' because you're prettier," retorted the queen. "We're just gonna have to do something about that, don't you think?"

Caroline eyed her in the mirror. "Any ideas?" she asked snidely.

The queen gave her a sharp look. "Lippy, aren't you?" she said. "All the more reason to dispatch you. Well, let me think about it. If you move an inch from this room, I'll see to it that you regret it." She stalked out and slammed the door, and Caroline heard a bolt slide home. She sighed and turned back towards the mirror again.

She looked at herself for a couple more minutes, then noticed her clothes. She wasn't wearing the cute white peasant blouse, black bodice and yellow skirt that the Snow White she'd always known had worn. Her dress was just a mere gray gown with no trimmings at all. "Geez," she said aloud, "don't these people believe in color?"

"Did you think," said the mirror, its smooth reflective surface rippling in time with the words, "that you were participating in a Disney film, perhaps?" Caroline scowled.

"Mr. Roarke, is that you in there?" she demanded.

"Yes…and I see you've already met the queen," said the mirror, amused.

"Yeah…real friendly type," Caroline said, rolling her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Mr. Roarke, what other kind of Snow White is there?"

A chuckle distorted the mirror so that it looked like the surface of a lake on a windy day. "The Disney studios did not originate the tale of Snow White, as I'm sure you're aware," the mirror explained in Roarke's voice. "That honor belongs to the Brothers Grimm, and it is their version of the fairy tale you are experiencing. I warned you that you must be careful. All the more so, for the Grimms' tales are decidedly bloodthirsty. Keep that in mind through the course of your fantasy."

"Aw, Mr. Roarke, really, come on," Caroline protested. "Do I have to actually shed blood to find my prince?" There was no answer, and she threw her hands in the air. "You're a fat lot of help." With a sigh she meandered over to the window and peered out; to her surprise, she was at least three stories above the ground. "Where's Rapunzel when you need her?" she muttered.

The sound of the bolt sliding back provided barely enough warning for her to turn around before the door crashed open and the queen strode in. "I've got it," she said. "See this fellow here?" She indicated an older man, decked out in chain mail, standing in the doorway. "He's going to take you out in the woods, cut out your heart and bring it back to me for my dinner. And a tasty dinner it'll be, too." She licked her lips in anticipation. "Well, get her out of here already."

"Cannibal," Caroline yelled accusingly as the man seized her arm and towed her out of the room. All she heard was the queen's mocking laughter, fading behind her, while she stumbled along after the man in the chain mail. "Hey, buddy, easy! I'm more than willing to get out of here, just don't pull so hard."

"Queen's orders," was the terse response. Caroline found herself forced to run to keep up with him, and he hauled her down the trail for quite a distance, till she was so out of breath that she couldn't speak. Eventually, though, the man did stop and prop her sagging form against a tree. She closed her eyes and tried to stay on her feet, sucking in air.

All was quiet, and she figured the fellow had left; so when she opened her eyes just in time to see him turn to her and lift an enormous knife in the air, she let out a ringing scream that halted even the soldier. "Hey, you're about to commit murder!" she hollered in a panic and began to back away. "Come on, pal, have a heart." The knife began to descend. "No, not mine!" Caroline screamed, leaping back. "Mr. Roarke! Mr. Roarke! There's a killer on your island! Mr. Roarke…help me!"

The soldier stopped and peered at her in confusion. "Who the heck's Mr. Roarke?" he asked.

"He owns this island," Caroline babbled desperately. "If he knew you stabbed one of his guests and cut out her heart, he'd have you thrown in the pokey for at least a couple hundred years. Maybe longer if I'm lucky. Really, mister, think about it…what'd I ever do to you anyway? Just because that psycho queen back there has a craving for human flesh…"

The soldier thought it over. "I don't know who you're talking about, and last I looked this wasn't any island…but you know, I always did think there was something wacked out about that queen. And she does kinda have a bent toward cannibalism, doesn't she?"

"I'll say," Caroline agreed, watching the knife.

The soldier shrugged and replaced the weapon into its scabbard, filling Caroline with an enervating relief. "Tell you what, kid…if you head down the trail thataway, and keep on going as far as you can, you oughta be able to get well and truly out of the queen's sights. I'll slaughter something on the way back and tell her it's your heart. She never has to know the difference." He hesitated in the act of turning around. "But I'm telling you right now, kiddo, if anyone in that castle ever tells the queen, I'll swear you knocked me out and escaped, you got that?"

"Fine, anything, I don't care," Caroline blurted. "Thanks, and see ya around." Without further delay she took to her heels.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- September 25, 1999

She ran till she simply couldn't keep going anymore; she was too winded to move by the time she finally stumbled upon what looked like a sprawling child's playhouse, complete with well-manicured lawn, window boxes filled with flowers, and even a tiny white picket fence. She stared at it, knowing it must be the home of the seven dwarves, but unable to go any farther for lack of oxygen. _This is one heck of a big island,_ she thought. _Although I still can't figure out how Mr. Roarke managed to change the character of the whole forest like that. Haven't seen a single palm tree since I started this fantasy._

Some ten minutes later, having finally caught her breath, she ventured across the yard and into the house, having to duck to enter. Once inside, she cautiously straightened up and felt the top of her head brush the ceiling; but at least she could stand upright. Only then did she take a good look around. The rooms were immaculate, the kitchen well-equipped, the living room very comfortable-looking. She let out a laugh at the widescreen television set at one wall. "Not exactly the original story," she said aloud. "I doubt Mrs. Grimm's boys ever sat down to watch _Monday Night Football."_

"Yeah?" said a surly voice. "Just because the queen chooses to live like a barbarian doesn't mean we have to." Caroline spun around and grinned widely. Seven small men had crowded into the room and were eyeing her with curiosity, surprise or distrust. The one who had spoken wore a deep scowl that looked permanently etched there. "What're you doing in here anyway? Come to steal our TV?"

"Told ya we should've installed a lock on the door," one of the other dwarves said.

"Hey, guys, calm down," Caroline interjected. "I just need someplace to stay for a night or two. I'm on the lam…the queen wants my heart on a platter."

"Oh, yeah, it's Snow White," said a third dwarf and giggled.

Another bobbed his head, released an explosive sneeze and croaked, "I've heard of you. Supposed to be the prettiest girl in the kingdom." He sneezed again.

Three of his companions shrank back in disgust. "I wish you'd let Doc treat that stupid cold already," complained one of them. "Next thing you know we'll all be stuck in bed while Happy reads to us out of his infernal comic books."

"Happy?" echoed Caroline, brightening. "So you guys do have the Disney names! It'll make it a heck of a lot easier to keep track of you. Let's see if I can remember everybody. Uh, which one's Happy?" The dwarf who had giggled waggled his fingers in the air, and she grinned. "Doc?" The dwarf who'd mentioned installing the lock gave her a wary nod. "And let's see, how about Grumpy." This was the first dwarf, who snorted in response. "I can see you're Sneezy, poor guy. Don't you have any cold medicine around here?"

"Are you kidding?" Doc demanded incredulously. "The nearest drugstore's fifty miles from here…and in case you haven't noticed, we don't own a car."

"Sorry," said Caroline. "I just figured you'd have some handy, you being Doc and all." At that moment the dwarf who had complained about Sneezy's cold yawned loudly, and she exclaimed triumphantly, "Sleepy!"

"Not at the moment," said the dwarf in question, rolling his eyes. "Just bored."

"Dopey?" Caroline ventured next, and a dwarf standing beside the door gave her a buck-toothed grin and tipped his hat. "And that must make you Bashful." This she said to a dwarf who looked decidedly younger than the others. Bashful smiled faintly and looked away, face turning red.

"Well," said Caroline, just to break the uncomfortable silence that descended. She visibly startled Bashful; Dopey blinked myopically at her.

"Well, what?" demanded Sleepy, predictably, just before Sneezy lived up to his name again and made Sleepy circle warily around behind Doc.

"Well, I don't suppose any of you are hungry," Caroline suggested weakly.

"I am," Dopey said eagerly.

Grumpy glared at him. "We just ate breakfast, you idiot. No thanks, Miss White. In any case, the cooking duties belong to Bashful here. He's got a nice brewery down cellar too, so we let him worry about the edibles. Try again, and you might stumble over some way to earn your keep if we let you stay."

"Would you really turn her over to that nasty queen?" Dopey asked, looking horrified. "I don't like her one bit. She called me an im…im-buh…she called me stupid." He folded his arms over his chest and repaid Grumpy the glare, with interest. "If you do, I'm goin' with her. She'll need somebody to protect her."

"I could keep house," Caroline offered.

"And take away my job? I should say not," declared Sneezy.

Caroline stared at him. "You mean, you're the one who does the dusting and vacuuming around here? No wonder you sneeze all the time. You're probably allergic. Some doctor _you_ are." This last she directed at the claimant of the appellation. "The whole lot of you think the poor guy's got a cold, when for all you know, he's allergic to the dust you're making him clean up."

"You done yet?" snapped Grumpy impatiently.

"I haven't even started, buddy," Caroline retorted. "Since you won't let me cook and you're bent on making poor Sneezy suffer, then maybe I could do yard work. Landscaping and weeding and planting and whatever."

The dwarves looked at one another; several of them shrugged. "Suits me," Sleepy said. "I usually do that, but I'm trying to write a novel and I never have any time because I'm always out there mowing the lawn. Hey, girlie, thanks for the break." He grinned broadly. "I'm off to the computer, fellas. Don't call me till lunchtime." He scuttled off into another room and banged the door shut.

"Okay, then, in that case, out ya go," Doc said. "We've got a whole garden that needs weeding, and since you volunteered…"

"What an incredibly friendly bunch of guys I've met up with," Caroline said sarcastically to the ceiling on her way to the front door. "They've all been just so nice and sweet and warmhearted…more than willing to offer a hunted girl a little sanctuary…" She rolled her eyes for emphasis and squeezed out the door.

"What a sad story," Happy remarked cheerfully. "Y'know, I could use a change of company myself. Hold up there, Miss White, I'll come help you."

"I think I will too," said Bashful unexpectedly, in a soft, shy voice, and trailed Happy out in Caroline's wake. She smiled gratefully at the two.

"Thanks, guys," she said. "Okay, so where's the garden?"

They'd been weeding for some time, with Happy chattering nonstop and Caroline and Bashful mostly just listening, when there came the sound of horseshoes clomping across hard-packed earth, and they all paused and looked around. After a moment, a pure white horse emerged from the forest, bearing an impossibly good-looking man dressed in silk, golden cloth, and leather, with a long royal-purple cape hooked across his shoulders and draping over the horse's flanks. He reined in beside the cottage and looked the trio over, while Caroline stared at him, mesmerized.

The prince straightened a purple felt tricornered hat with an ostentatious white feather attached to it. "Well…a nice day for slave detail, I see."

"Yeah, isn't the weather grand? We thought it was going to rain, which would've been great for the garden here, but not so much for the weeding…and speaking of weeding, this is Miss Snow White. She's staying with us for a few days while she's on the lam," said Happy excitedly. "That wicked old queen wants her heart for dinner."

"Is that so? Perhaps she'll invite me," the prince said thoughtfully. "I do so love roast heart. Haven't had any in eons. I'll have to wear my good clothes…these rags just won't do for an audience with the queen." He brushed at imaginary dust on his clothing, whipped a comb out of some unseen pocket and began to carefully groom his hair.

"Excuse me," said Caroline loudly. "Didn't you pay any attention? It's _my_ heart you're looking forward to partaking of, Prince."

The prince paused and peered at her as if she were an unusually intelligent parrot. "Oh, was that you talking? Actually, roast human heart is the best kind. You really should try it sometime. Have we met? Prince Charming."

"Snow White," muttered Caroline, reluctantly sticking out her hand. Charming gave it a couple of vigorous shakes before letting go and resuming his meticulous hair combing.

"Do you need some help," ventured Bashful, "or are you just passing through?"

"Hm? Oh," said Charming, putting away his comb and extracting a hand mirror. "I was bored, so I just thought I'd stop by, see if you fellows needed some company."

"We have some," Bashful told him, gesturing at Caroline.

"Some intelligent, stimulating company," Charming clarified, making Happy giggle loudly. Bashful rolled his eyes, and Caroline began to fume silently. "But, well, if you'd rather settle for her…" He shrugged and scrutinized his image in the mirror. "I really must schedule a facial. My pores look closed. And oh no, is that the beginning of a zit on my forehead?" Charming's expression grew horrified. "How dare that presumptuous little pimple mar my perfect countenance!"

"Well, since you're here," Happy said loudly, "how about some coffee?"

"Great heavens, no…it'll stain my beautiful white teeth," Charming exclaimed, making a revolted face. "Though if you happen to have some Evian around…"

"We can't afford that stuff," Happy said with a bright grin, "but our tap water is the clearest in the kingdom. Really, you can't tell the difference."

"_I_ can," Charming pronounced blackly, eyeing the dwarf down one side of the very same aristocratic nose that Caroline was seriously considering introducing to one of her fists. "It's Evian or nothing—I deserve no less than the best. Since you claim to have none, I think I'll just be on my way." He stuffed his mirror back into whatever pocket he'd removed it from, wheeled his horse around and cantered out of sight.

Caroline blew out a loud breath and stared back and forth between Happy and Bashful. "How on earth do you two stand that pompous jerk?" she demanded incredulously.

"Believe me, it's not easy," Bashful said, slowly shaking his head.

"I just bet," Caroline agreed. "I'm going to have to have a very long and serious talk with Mr. Roarke. I was supposed to find my Prince Charming here, and instead this egotistical clown trots in and insults everybody in sight."

"Who's Mr. Roarke?" asked Happy.

Caroline caught herself. _I really have to watch what I say when I think out loud,_ she noted ruefully. "Oh…just my…uh, travel agent," she said. Happy shrugged acceptance, but she thought she saw a skeptical glint in Bashful's eye. When he noticed her watching him, he gave her a half-smile and bent to the weeding once more.

‡ ‡ ‡

After lunch—a delicious meal of rich tomato soup, garlic bread and salad with (of all the ironies) apples for dessert, all whipped up by Bashful—Caroline went back out to inspect the newly-weeded garden, hoping there might have been a few they'd missed earlier. Frankly, it was really only an excuse to get away from the other dwarves. Grumpy lived up to his name every bit as much as Sneezy did; Doc was gruff and curt; Sleepy was still holed up writing his book; and Dopey and Happy had become a little tiresome with their endless chatter. Even Bashful had taken himself off someplace, and he was the only one Caroline could really tolerate for long. She began to find the solitude peaceful, and after awhile just settled down beside a flower bed, inhaling the heady fragrance of the various blooms.

"Well, you look blissed out," observed an amused female voice.

Caroline looked up to see Leslie standing there watching her with a grin. "Oh, hi there," she said. "Yeah, well, you oughta meet those dwarves. Most of them are impossible to be around. I just needed some space." She sat up suddenly. "Hey, since you're here, I want out of this fantasy."

"No can do," Leslie said, "sorry. Remember what Father said before you started? We can't do anything now. There's no way for him to halt or change the fantasy, so you have to see it through to the bitter end. Why do you want out?…the queen?"

"No, her I can handle. It's that dippy Prince Charming. Where'd you get that moron, anyway? The guy's so full of himself I kept expecting him to explode. That's not what I had in mind when I came here for this fantasy," Caroline informed her.

Leslie grinned and said, "Oh, an egotist, huh?"

"And how!" said Caroline with emphasis. "That's not fair, you know. He was the whole reason for this fantasy in the first place. I mean, come on…how else is this fairy tale supposed to end?"

Leslie regarded her for a moment before saying, "Any way you want it to end. It's your fantasy, Caroline. If the prince isn't your type, then look for someone who is. Oh, and by the way…you might want to keep a couple of things in mind. When you get the poisoned apple, bite into the bruised side—"

Caroline interrupted, "I don't think I even want to bother biting into the apple at all. Not if it means I have to have that obnoxious, vain prince kissing me to wake me up."

Leslie laughed. "Just trust me," she said. "Bite into the bruised side of the apple, as I was saying, and keep an eye out for your ally."

"My ally?" echoed Caroline blankly, staring at her.

"Yep, your ally," Leslie said, nodding. "Since you've developed an intense dislike for His Royal Haughtiness, you've already altered the normal predictable course of the fairy tale. But you aren't alone in this—you do have someone on your side, so watch for him."

Caroline squinted at her in perplexity, then let her gaze stray to the little house. "Well, it can't be the cannibal queen, obviously, so it has to be a dwarf by default. But heck if I can figure out which one—" She turned back, only to forget what she had been saying when she realized she was completely alone in the garden. "That's the fastest vanishing act I ever saw," she mumbled. "Those two have to be magicians or something."

"What magicians, Miss White?" Caroline looked around at this and saw Dopey standing at the other end of the garden, almost in the same place where Leslie had been just a moment before. "Can I see 'em? Are we havin' a magic show?"

"Sorry, my friend, you just missed it," Caroline told him lightly, climbing to her feet. "How about let's watch a little TV? There ought to be a decent old flick on somewhere."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- September 26, 1999

"How did it go?" Roarke asked when Leslie stepped out of the time-travel room and pulled the door shut behind her.

Leslie chuckled. "She wanted to bail out…no real surprise there. Of course, I told her she couldn't. She was complaining about the prince—said he's got one giant ego."

"Ah, I see," murmured Roarke, amused. He reached out for a small potted plant that sat on the desk and fingered a couple of the leaves curiously. "Was she very upset?"

"She seems to be keeping a sense of humor," Leslie observed, crossing the room. "I think I heard her call the wicked queen a cannibal just as I was leaving." That got a laugh from Roarke, and she leaned over to peer at the plant that was holding his attention. "That wasn't here before. Where'd it come from?"

"Rogan brought it over," Roarke said. "This is thyme. He mentioned that Julie has been complaining about the high cost of the herbs and spices she uses in her cooking, and thought he might try growing a few of them himself. I asked if he would mind giving us one or two small pots, for Mariki to use."

"Oh," said Leslie. "Well, in that case, more power to him. I do remember he was looking for something to do so he wouldn't just be freeloading off Julie, spouse or no. And anyway, poor Julie's looking pretty done for these days. For seven months, she sure is big."

Roarke glanced up. "Have you spoken with her lately? It's occurred to me that she would appreciate a little diversion, if you get my meaning."

Leslie thought for a moment, then lit up. "Now that you mention it, this would be a great time to plan a baby shower for her. Thanks for planting the bug in my ear, Father. If it's okay, I'll call my friends and see if we can arrange for them all to come." He nodded, and she picked up the phone and began making calls. Leaving her to her own devices, he arose and carried the little pot down to the kitchen, then dropped into the time-travel room himself and settled onto a tall stool beside a large, heavy mirror with a scrolled frame of dull gold. He had just finished checking his watch when the voice came.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall…who's the fairest of them all?" demanded the queen.

Roarke smiled fleetingly to himself, then said sweetly, "Though fair you are, my dearest queen, none fairer than Snow White can be seen." He winced playfully at the strident shrieks that greeted this pronouncement, but waited till they had faded completely away before he indulged himself in a quiet laugh and left the room.

§ § § -- September 26, 1999

After a decidedly restless night on a twin-sized air mattress in the dwarves' living room, Caroline finally fell into an exhausted sleep just before sunrise, and was thus rudely awakened less than three hours later by the bustling and chattering of her seven hosts. To add insult to injury, she finally got her eyes open enough to see something, only to find herself face to ferocious face with Grumpy. "Get up, you lazy thing," he growled. "Breakfast doesn't last forever, and I've got a potato patch for you to harvest."

"Oh, joy," said Caroline, giving him a saccharine smile. "I'll save all the green parts just for you." Grumpy harrumphed and stalked away, while Happy cackled with delighted laughter, Dopey scratched his head in puzzlement and Doc rolled his eyes with disapproval. Sleepy yawned, triggering a like reaction in the still-drowsy Caroline, and Sneezy and Bashful looked at each other and grinned. Caroline struggled off the air mattress, shook out her skirt and padded toward the kitchen to inspect the breakfast fare, feeling like Gulliver in Lilliput. "Wow. Belgian waffles?"

"You like those?" Bashful asked, looking shyly delighted. "Everybody here loves them. Except Grumpy, of course."

"Of course," agreed Caroline and snickered. Bashful filled a plate, and she settled onto the floor near the table and dug in with gusto. Grumpy was shoveling down a bowlful of cold cereal, but the other dwarves were greatly enjoying Bashful's cooking.

Caroline offered to do dishes after breakfast, earning a grateful smile from both Sneezy and Bashful. "Thanks for the assistance," Sneezy said, whipping out a handkerchief and letting loose five rapid sneezes into it, one right on the heels of another. He gave her a sheepish look and shrugged. "Well, we gotta head for work."

"On a Sunday?" Caroline exclaimed.

"We get time and a half," said Sleepy, "and we need it. The property taxes on this place are astronomical. Well, come on, fellas." He headed for the door, and the other dwarves followed him out. Bashful, the last to leave, cast a quick glance back at Caroline over his shoulder.

"Don't let in any strangers," he cautioned, then scuttled out.

Caroline pondered that for a few minutes while she gathered the breakfast dishes and started water running in the sink. "I guess it's okay to let in the evil cannibal queen, then, since I know her," she mused. After all, that's what was supposed to happen anyway. So she supposed that, technically, she wasn't disobeying Bashful's word. The queen would be in disguise, but everybody knew the old apple-selling hag was Queen Nasty anyway: so that still didn't make her a stranger. Satisfied, Caroline washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen, then headed out to Grumpy's potato patch and surveyed it with distaste.

"Well, good morning, sweetie-pie," she heard a voice nearby say, and looked around. Sure enough, a wizened elderly woman stood just inside the picket fence, large basket over one arm and a gap-toothed grin splitting her face in two. "How are you this morning?"

"Can't complain," said Caroline, taking in the visitor and thinking how eager the queen must be to do her in, to show up this early. "You?"

"Ah, my health could be better…arthritis and osteoporosis and…" The old woman caught herself. "Oh, but you don't want to hear about all that, do you now? Matter of fact, I'm sure you'd rather hear all about my nice shiny apples. Come and take a look, sweetie-pie. They're the very best I could pick." She unhooked the basket from her arm and held it out in display at Caroline, who meandered over to peer under the lid. Sure enough, it was filled with tempting apples. She started to reach inside, but the crone snatched the basket back. "Oh, no. These come at a price. Ten _pfennigs_ apiece."

Caroline eyed her. "Is that a lot?"

"Why, hardly," the old woman said, looking offended. "You won't find better prices for apples anywhere else in the kingdom. And I'll have you know that the queen is my very best customer. What better endorsement could you ask for than that?"

Caroline privately reflected that she'd sooner trust an endorsement from Dracula, but refrained from saying so. "Well, I don't know. Bashful had some gorgeous apples yesterday, actually. I don't know where he got them, but I think it's a safe bet that it wasn't from you."

"Mine are far better," the old woman boasted, "and that's a promise. Look, if it'll help persuade you, I'll give you a free sample. Let me see, which is the best one?" She rummaged around in the basket, lifting out several apples, inspecting each and dropping them back in before coming up with a brilliant-red specimen. "Now, look at that, sweetie-pie. Isn't it just beautiful? I bet you've never seen such a red, red apple in your entire life. Here, take a bite." She held the fruit out to Caroline, who gingerly plucked it from the old woman's fingers and turned it around and around, inspecting it thoughtfully. She noticed a small dark spot on one side of the apple, and at that moment remembered Leslie's tip from the day before to bite from the bruised side.

"Hmm," Caroline murmured thoughtfully, "this really does look tasty. All right, I'll try it, but I warn you now, if it's mushy, you're losing the sale." And she took a big bite from the apple, taking great care to ingest the bruised part. The old hag watched closely, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

_She's waiting for me to drop dead,_ Caroline realized. _I hope my high-school drama classes weren't a total waste. _ She chewed the apple slowly, pretending to savor it, then swallowed noisily and smirked at the old crone in satisfaction. "Not bad, lady, not too bad," she remarked. "But I…" She stopped, gasped, clutched her stomach, let out the most agonized moan she could conjure up, and then collapsed in a heap on the grass.

The crone cackled with glee. "She's dead, finally, that wretched little brat is dead!" the queen's voice sang out, as if she figured she no longer needed to bother disguising her voice. "Now that miserable mirror will start telling me what I want to hear. At least it better, or else I'm going to smash it, seven years of bad luck be damned. Gotta get back to the old castle and celebrate!" Laughing maniacally, the queen departed; Caroline listened till she could no longer hear the slightest trace of the woman's mirth, then opened one eye and squinted down the trail. No one was in sight, so she got to her feet, picked up the dropped remains of the apple and made a face.

"I better keep this. It could be evidence," she decided and retreated into the house, where she carefully placed the apple atop the refrigerator before returning to the potato patch and digging out exactly eight potatoes. Grumpy would have to pay her before she pulled up any more, she decided, carrying them in and scrubbing them in the sink, poking a few holes in each, wrapping them in aluminum foil and popping them into the oven. She then turned her energies toward the far more enjoyable pursuit of baking sugar cookies. And that was what the dwarves walked in on when they came home for lunch.

Grumpy, in the lead as usual, stopped so abruptly that all six of his companions bumped into him like so many dominoes. "Gee, Grumpy, how come you did that?" Dopey asked, sounding truly perplexed.

"Are you blind as well as dumb?" Grumpy shot back. "Look who's taken over our kitchen!" He turned and glared at Caroline, who stared back in amazement as he hollered, "You were supposed to die this morning, you fool female! What's the big idea, messing up the schedule that way? You realize that stupid prince will never come around and kiss you and take you away? Now we're stuck with you!"

"Maybe we oughta poison her ourselves," suggested Doc. "I've got some great stuff in my bag that oughta do the trick."

Caroline finally lost her temper and snapped, "Hey, you bloodthirsty midgets, can it! I don't care if that moron of a prince never comes back. Who'd want that strutting ostrich kissing them anyway?"

"You sure had eyes for him yesterday morning," Happy said, giggling.

"Yeah, till he opened his fat mouth," Caroline retorted, disgusted. "Just for that, Doc and Grumpy, I'm gonna ask Bashful to make sure you don't get supper—never mind having any of my cookies. I bet the cannibal queen came to you two little old goats and had you make up the poisoned apple." She grabbed the fruit in question off the top of the fridge and brandished it at them, taunting, "Want a bite?"

"I'll have you arrested if you make me eat that thing," Grumpy yelled.

Caroline sneered at him, "Go ahead and try it, you little creep!"

"Hey, knock it off," ordered Sleepy. "I want my lunch, and then I want a nap. No more yelling—it's keeping me awake."

"Baked potatoes for all," Caroline said curtly. "Except Doc and Grumpy, that is. I'm not cooking for any dopey dwarf who wants me dead."

"Hey," protested Dopey, looking wounded, "I don't want you dead, _they_ do." He pointed at the two miscreants, who both glared at him.

Caroline sighed. "I didn't mean you," she began, then threw her hands in the air and gave up. "Help yourselves, guys. There's butter for the spuds, but I couldn't find any sour cream or chives, sorry." She yanked a batch of cookies out of the oven and began scraping them off the cookie sheet with a spatula.

"Don't worry about them, Miss White," Dopey said in what he probably thought was a comforting voice. "They're just having a bad day."

"Geez," Caroline muttered under her breath, rolling cookie dough into balls for the next batch. Chair legs scraped across the floor as the dwarves took seats, and Caroline cast them a narrow-eyed look. Doc seemed unconcerned about his potato, but Grumpy sat there inspecting his. _Rats, and I forgot to give him one with green spots._

Then, out of nowhere, Bashful winked at her, just before digging into his potato. Her eyes widened, and she stared long enough to see his quick smile before he broke their gaze. She grinned to herself, returning her attention to the cookies. It looked as if she had found the ally Leslie had told her about.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- September 26, 1999

Nobody said anything till the dwarves had finished their lunches; then, when they started shoving back chairs preparatory to leaving, Bashful released a loud moan of agony that stopped everyone in their tracks. "What's wrong with you?" demanded Grumpy.

"I feel terrible," Bashful groaned, clutching his gut and grimacing. "I don't know how it happened…just came on all of a sudden. You fellas go on. I don't think I can make it."

"What're we gonna tell the supervisor?" Sneezy wanted to know.

"Tell him he's sick, stoo-pid," Dopey said, rolling his eyes.

Sneezy started to glare at him, but was sidetracked by another of his endless namesakes and had to devote himself to his latest fit. Sleepy, speaking through a huge yawn, complained, "Hey, _I'm_ going back, and I didn't get my nap, you know. How do you know he isn't faking it?"

"That's something Grumpy would do," Happy said, smirking. Grumpy thwacked a fist into his upper arm, but Happy's grin merely got bigger.

Bashful suddenly made a strange noise and sat up straight, his eyes popping and his cheeks puffing out as he clamped his mouth shut. "Maybe you better make tracks," Caroline suggested nervously. "I think he's about to lose his lunch."

"Gah," squawked five voices, and all the other dwarves except for Doc scrambled out the door and galloped down the path into the woods. Doc merely eyed Bashful suspiciously, watching as the latter seemed to regain control over his rebellious stomach.

"Go ahead, Doc," croaked Bashful. "You'll be late for afternoon shift."

Doc shook his head. "Like Sleepy said, how do we know you're not faking it? Maybe you need some medication for that belly."

"Are you kidding? In that bag of tricks? Cryin' out loud, Doc, you can't even find a remedy for Sneezy's sneezing," Caroline scoffed.

"You stay out of this," Doc ordered in irritation. "Get over it, Bash. That sick act's wearing thin. In spite of what our annoying guest here says, I do have some stuff in my bag here. Namely a couple of nice big syringes and some cod-liver oil. Or I could squirt some ipecac syrup down your throat. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Bashful lurched out of his chair and staggered over to Doc, grabbing him by the shirtfront. "Listen, you quack, when I say I'm sick, then dammit, I'm sick. Now you've got a choice here. Either you get your substantial behind out of here and tell the supervisor I've got nausea, or you're gonna be the one who needs whatever you really have in that black bag of yours, because I'm going to pick an essential bone and break it in about thirteen places. You got me?" he growled.

Doc and Bashful stared each other down for a long forty-five seconds, neither one budging; then Bashful went pale and clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes bugging out again. Doc broke. "All right, all right, just don't barf all over me!" he yelled and fled out the door. Bashful grinned widely, watching him go, looking quite healthy all of a sudden.

"Oh my God," Caroline said, blowing out her breath. "You really were putting on an act, weren't you? For a couple minutes there, I thought I gave _you_ the potato with the green spots instead of Grumpy."

Bashful laughed. "I'd have given him a green one myself if I'd thought of it—him and Doc both! So…you're in the middle of a Snow White fantasy, are you?"

Caroline gawked at him, stunned beyond words for a moment. When she found her voice again, all she could do was stutter. "H-h-h-how'd you…?"

Bashful chuckled and said, "Because I'm doing the same thing. You gave yourself away yesterday when you mentioned Mr. Roarke. My name's Andy Holloway, from the lovely little city of Katy, Texas." He offered a hand.

"Wow," Caroline blurted, shaking it, "this is amazing. I'm from Corpus Christi, and my name's Caroline Shaw. Sure is nice to meet you, Andy."

"Likewise," Andy said cheerfully.

"I can't believe your fantasy was to be one of the seven dwarves," Caroline said, eyeing him with curiosity. "What made you do it?"

"Not so much 'what' as 'who'," Andy explained, grinning a little sheepishly. "My niece Tessa is ten years old and has been dying to be the title character in 'Sleeping Beauty' for ages. I finally stepped in and gave her the fantasy as a birthday present, but of course I had to go along, since her parents couldn't get off work. Unfortunately, if you remember your fairy tales—which I didn't—there aren't any dwarves in 'Sleeping Beauty'. So Mr. Roarke suggested I take a role in this one. I figured, heck, at least I'd have company. I just didn't realize all the other guys were gonna be about three hundred years older than I was. You saw how Doc acted just now—treating me like a kid who was trying to get out of going to school by playing sick."

"True," Caroline said thoughtfully, "very true. So what do you do in real life?"

Andy laughed and said, "I'm a chemist, actually. Remember yesterday morning when Grumpy told you I have a brewery in the cellar? I do…but there's also a terrific chemistry lab there that I managed to set up over a couple days. Tessa's fantasy's taking a week because of the alleged hundred-year sleep and all that, so I had time to put it all together. I supposed Snow White would show up sooner or later, and I thought I could figure out what kind of poison the Grimm brothers had in mind when they wrote this story."

Caroline's eyes were enormous with impressed respect. "No kidding! So then, you want to figure it out now? I had no idea saving that apple as evidence would actually pay off." She plucked the apple off the counter and handed it to Andy.

"Sure. Come on down with me and we'll have a couple cold ones," he offered.

"Oh man, a frosty beer. You don't have to ask me twice," Caroline exclaimed and followed Andy down to the basement. Sure enough, there was a small but well-equipped chemistry setup there, plus a corner devoted to brewing beer. Andy popped the tops on two bottles, handed one to Caroline and took a long draft. Caroline thanked him and followed suit. "Ahhhhhh…that's fantastic," she said. "This is really great stuff!"

"One of my hobbies," Andy said, putting his bottle on a nearby table and examining the apple. "Holy cripes, look how red this thing is. That's gotta be food coloring or something. Never heard of any poison that would have an effect like that."

"Maybe it's something indigenous to Fantasy Island," Caroline suggested. "I've always heard there's a whole slew of weird plants and stuff here that can't be found anywhere else in the world."

"There are," Andy agreed absently, "including a few I've analyzed just to pass the time this week…but I can't see the queen having enough smarts to know what any of them would be. I think it's something conventional. Let me get a sample of this thing, and we'll give it a look." Caroline watched him as he worked, slicing the apple into eight even sections with a pocket knife and putting aside the ones that contained the marks from Caroline's bite. "Obviously those aren't poisonous, or we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation," he said with a quick grin at her. "By the way, you're damn lucky you bit into an unaffected part of this thing."

"It wasn't luck, it was forewarning," said Caroline, "thanks to Leslie."

"Aha," said Andy. "So that was it. Now the trick here is to find out exactly how much poison there is in this, and what kind it is—just in case there's a law on this island that prohibits that particular poison."

"You're really sure there's poison in that?" Caroline asked uneasily. "I mean, I know the queen's supposed to want Snow White dead, but…it's only a fantasy, right?"

Andy paused long enough to study her. "I'm assuming you got the standard lecture from Mr. Roarke about how everything in the fantasy is real while it lasts. Tessa and I both did, so it stands to reason you did too."

"Oh, yeah, I did," Caroline admitted in a small voice, feeling her face grow hot.

Andy grinned again and returned his attention to the apple; presently he inquired with a light casualness to his tone, "So what possessed you to step into Snow White's dainty little shoes, Caroline Shaw?"

Caroline wondered how red her face must be by now. "Nothing you'd be interested in hearing," she tried to demur.

"I'd be interested in hearing anything," Andy said. "Gorgeous as you are, my sweet, I can see you're no college kid. You have a little experience with life, don't you? So what possesses a mature woman to step into what ought to be a little girl's dream come true?"

She eyed him sidelong for some time before hedging, "Promise not to laugh?"

"I would if I thought I could keep it," Andy said, and she sighed. Figured. Well, at least the guy was honest. Giving up, she hitched herself onto the corner of a table and cleared her throat at some length.

"Well, I'd be grateful if you could exercise a little restraint at least," she said. "Fact is, I did this to find a man. This fairy tale comes complete with handsome prince, and I figured a romance was a sure thing, till I actually met the guy. Let me tell you, Andy, he is so stuck on himself, he could be the one Carly Simon's singing about in 'You're So Vain'." Andy burst out laughing. "Hey, you promised," Caroline protested.

"No I didn't," Andy chortled. "Anyway, that wasn't what I was laughing at. It was your description of the handsome prince. You can't be serious. You did all this just so you could find a man? I didn't think women were that desperate anymore."

"I'm thirty-eight, and I've never been married," Caroline said. "I'm just tired of coming home to an empty house after work every night."

"So get a cat," said Andy, primary attention on testing an apple section.

"I have five already," Caroline retorted, earning another laugh from him. "I'm well on my way to becoming the local crazy cat lady, thanks very much. Trouble with cats is, they don't engage you in conversation. I mean, they have a way of losing all interest in you once you've fed them, and even if they _could_ talk, they'd just tell you to find someone who cares and go sleep in the windowsill or something. I'd like somebody _human_ to talk to, you know?" She drank some of her beer. "I think this is the first intelligent conversation I've had with anyone in months. My friends are all married and all they do is complain about their husbands or their kids."

"Isn't that supposed to make you feel lucky you're still single and you don't have to deal with the old man channel-surfing on the couch or the kids fighting over who gets the red one and who gets the blue one?" Andy asked humorously. "Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against marriage myself. But man, it's all but impossible to find the right woman—and being a short person, that just makes it ten times harder for me. I guess you could say it's turned me into a cynic. I eventually got to where I figured, if they can't see past my height and appreciate my personality, then they can go roll in a pile of manure." Caroline laughed, and he half-grinned. "Almost done here. Give me another five minutes or so and we'll have the answer to the burning question."

"Wait till that mirror tells her she still isn't the best-looking female in the realm," said Caroline, her mind abruptly jumping tracks. "She'll probably come around looking for some other way to bump me off. I don't know what in heck that woman's got against me in the first place. I mean, I don't even know her. Come to think of it, she's almost as bad as the prince when it comes to vanity. I wonder how jealous she'd be if he turned out to be better-looking than she is?"

"Sounds like a match made in heaven to me," Andy commented, grinning. "Okay, here we go." Caroline focused on him; she had no idea what he'd been doing, but if he had the answer, that was good enough for her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Hemlock," said Andy. "Concentrated, too…and enough of it in here to knock off the prince's purebred steed, never mind a mere human being. You're luckier than I thought, Caroline." His face was serious. "This stuff's for real, fantasy or not."

Caroline flinched. "Oh my God. I guess I should've taken Mr. Roarke's warning more seriously. I'm telling you, Andy, I really think that cannibal queen's out to get me. She's gonna keep on trying to murder me till this fantasy ends, and I don't even know when that's gonna be. And I can't keep on outwitting her by myself."

"_No problemo, compadre,"_ Andy said whimsically. "You've got me. And I have a funny feeling I'm all you have, because it really looked to me like Grumpy and Doc are in cahoots with the…" He hesitated as if something had just occurred to him. "Did you say 'cannibal queen' a minute ago?"

"Yeah, on account of her wanting to snack on my heart," Caroline clarified.

Andy's face cleared. "Aha, that's right. I forgot about that part. In that case, let's see if we can come up with a way to outsmart her."

"Could we possibly give her a taste of her own medicine?" Caroline asked.

Andy gave her a wary look and said dubiously, "You mean kill her? Something tells me Mr. Roarke wouldn't be too happy with that."

Caroline shook her head impatiently. "No, no, I'm not looking to stoop to her level. I just want to give her a good scare, that's all. Is there something we can do to put her out of commission for a couple hours or so, without doing any permanent damage?"

Andy considered it, "hmm"-ing to himself as he did. After a while he mused, "I might be able to whip up something. The problem here is how to apply the punishment to the subject, if you get my meaning."

"I'll work on that," Caroline said. "You worry about the toxins, since that's your field of expertise anyway. Oh, and hey, Andy…thanks. I really appreciate this."

Andy grinned at her. "What're friends for? Come on, let's see what we can do here."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- September 26, 1999

When the dwarves came home late that afternoon, they found Caroline and Andy seated in the living room, watching a "Gunsmoke" rerun on TV. Doc propped his fists on his hips and glared; Grumpy roared, "Bashful, you big fake!"

"He threw up, and after that he was just fine," Caroline told him. "That happens sometimes, you know. It was probably just something he ate."

"Your potatoes, most likely," Grumpy barbed.

"_Whose_ potatoes?" Caroline retorted. "If I remember correctly, it's your potato patch, Sourpuss, so if I were you, I'd think twice about who I was accusing!"

Doc sighed. "Probably had some green spots on yours, Bash. You should be more careful about what you eat. In any case, Snowy, I thought you were planning to give the green ones to Grumpy here." For the first time he cracked a smile.

Caroline shrugged and said, "It was an honest mistake. Frankly, I'm glad it turned out the way it did. Bashful's been much better company." Andy, back in character, gave her a shy smile and blushed, and she patted his arm.

"I'm glad Bashful's feeling better," Dopey said. "Can we eat now?"

"Your name should be Glutton instead of Dopey," Sneezy observed. "Although, come to think of it, I could sure use a nice, thick juicy steak right about now."

"Oh, yeah," sighed Happy blissfully, rubbing his little pot belly. "It's been ages. I'd be in seventh heaven just from the taste."

"Well," Caroline drawled a little sarcastically, "since I couldn't get to the nearest supermarket, steak's out. You guys might have to settle for TV dinners."

"No, I can handle it," Andy offered, hopping off the sofa. "Stay there, Miss White, and I'll take care of supper." He headed off to the kitchen; at the same time there came a knock on the door. The other dwarves looked at one another; Sleepy shrugged and answered it, since he was the closest. His yawn was rudely arrested when they all saw the queen standing there, and hurriedly everyone bowed, except Caroline, who didn't see the need.

The queen zeroed right in on her. "You!" she screamed. "You're still alive, you little brat?" She shoved Sleepy aside and stormed in, her attention now on Grumpy and Doc. "You two told me you'd take care of everything for me!"

"What were we supposed to do, Your Cruelness?" Grumpy snapped. "You're the one who wants her dead. We personally couldn't care less if she lives or dies."

"Then it shouldn't have been such a trial for you to try again," the queen yelled.

Caroline got up from the sofa and strolled toward the kitchen. "Oh, come on, Stepmom, you can't really expect these guys to do all your dirty work for you. They had to work, anyway, so they could pay your stratospheric property taxes." She idly picked up one of her cookies from the counter and bit into it.

"You'll spoil your dinner," Dopey warned her solicitously.

"No I won't. All I've had all day was an apple…and that turned out to be poisonous," Caroline said with an accusing look at the queen.

"Oh sure, blame me for your forgetting to eat," the queen said, staring at the cookies. "Hey, brat, you never made any of those at the castle. No one ever knew you could cook."

"You never asked," Caroline replied innocently, picking up another cookie and holding it out in her direction. "Want one?"

"They're really good, Your Nastiness," Dopey said. "I took some to work with me. Yum, yum, good." He smacked his lips.

The queen eyed Caroline suspiciously but accepted the treat anyway, inspecting it carefully. Andy, carrying a stack of plates to the table to set it, caught Caroline's eye for a second, and she gave a slight nod.

"Hey," yelled Happy, the indignant look on his face a surprising departure from the normal giddy disposition that had given him his name. "How come that rotten woman gets cookies and we don't? Especially since there isn't any steak!"

"Yeah, come on!" clamored the others, while Andy calmly set the table and the queen kept turning her cookie over and over in her hands, as though looking for something. Caroline sighed loudly and threw her hands in the air.

"Okay, okay, fine, help yourselves. Just don't ruin your appetites," she said. The dwarves promptly rushed the counter and started grabbing cookies.

The queen bit into hers, chewed for a long minute, then finally swallowed. "Huh. I suppose you can bake, at least," she said grudgingly, then dropped in what appeared to be a dead faint.

"Gee, look at that, the queen fell down," said Dopey.

"Too bad," Sleepy said mildly.

"Isn't that nice?" Happy queried in a bright voice. "Let's finish these before she wakes up and takes any more." With that, the dwarves proceeded to resume gobbling cookies.

"I guess it worked," Caroline murmured to Andy. "What was in that cookie, anyway?"

Andy smiled slyly and replied in a mock-mysterious voice, "Oh, just some extract of a bit of local Fantasy Island flora I was messing around with. I promised Mr. Roarke I'd test a couple of plants he hasn't had time to get around to yet." He grinned. "Looks like it works. Let's see if she wakes up. I tried to dilute it—I don't want Mr. Roarke arresting me."

"What on earth…a banquet, and no one invited me?" demanded an imperious voice from the doorway. The dwarves paused and turned to stare at Prince Charming, who bent his knees enough for his head to clear the doorway and stepped inside.

"Don't give that frosted flake any of my cookies," Caroline warned the surprised dwarves, "or so help me, I'll break the neck of whoever does."

Sneezy held up his hands. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Miss White…we're done eating them all anyway." He sneezed, making the prince shrink back.

"Yeah, and they were real good," Dopey added, rubbing his protruding stomach.

"Don't trip over the body there," Doc warned absently, then let out a silly-sounding, high-pitched burp that made all the other dwarves giggle, particularly Happy. "Excuse me."

"You have a problem with my eating your cookies?" Charming demanded, before Doc's comment registered and he looked down. His face went slack and his mouth gaped open. "Where did this incredibly beautiful creature come from?"

"Hell, probably," offered Caroline. Andy snickered, but Charming seemed not to have heard. He knelt on the floor and gave the queen a protracted kiss that made the dwarves hoot loudly.

"If she wakes up," Andy muttered, "I don't think even Mr. Roarke's gonna believe me."

Charming lifted his head and directed a black glare at the dwarves, who subsided quickly and mumbled insincere apologies through their grins. "Mind your own business, you miserable little runts," he snarled.

On the floor, the queen stirred, stretched and let out a long, loud yawn. "Well, that was a nice nap…the mattress could've been better though," she mumbled.

"My gorgeous vision come true, wake up," Charming said. "It's me."

The queen cracked open one eye and peered at him curiously; then both eyes popped wide and she bolted into a sitting position. "Where'd you come from? You're the best-looking guy in twelve realms!"

"I know," the prince said smugly and beamed at her. "And I see I've finally found someone with the sense and the brains to see that."

"Wait a minute, you must be Prince Charming," the queen exclaimed. "So that's what you look like. I've heard of you for ages and always wondered. Say, how'd you like to come back to my castle for a little roast heart?"

"I was just waiting for that very invitation," Charming said and arose, assisting her to her feet. "How 'bout it, sweet lady of my dreams?" Caroline rolled her eyes, while the prince hoisted the queen off the floor and carried her out the door. The dwarves crowded into the doorway, Caroline went to the window, and they all watched Charming deposit the queen onto his horse, climb aboard himself, and canter off.

"Aaaawwwwwwwww," the dwarves crooned happily.

"Unbelievable," Caroline muttered to herself. "Some fairy tale this was!"

She felt somebody tap her arm and looked around at Andy. "Hey, look at it this way: it's still a happy ending. The obnoxious prince and the cannibal queen were evidently made for each other…and you and I met. What's not to like?"

Caroline thought about it, watching the dwarves scuttle back into the kitchen and make short work of the few remaining cookies. "Well, it would've been nice to have had the chance to knock Grumpy upside the head and maybe shoot Doc with one of his own needles for the way they sided with Her Evilness against me…but I guess two happy endings in the same fairy tale are too much to expect. And anyway, my mother taught me never to hit anybody smaller than me."

Andy burst out laughing, and Caroline joined in; they were still chortling when there came another knock on the door. "Don't tell me Prince Not-So-Charming came back," said Caroline quizzically.

"I'll get it," said Dopey eagerly and trotted over to the door, which he opened to reveal an older man, dressed in worn work clothes and wearing a stern expression. "Uh-oh…uh, hey, fellas, it's the supervisor," he said uneasily.

His fellow dwarves stopped eating and stared at their latest visitor. The supervisor squinted at each dwarf in turn till he spotted Andy; then he stuck out a long finger and pointed it right at him. "You, the little man wearing the apron," he growled. "Come out here, I want to talk to you about shirking your job."

Andy cleared his throat, removed the apron and draped it over the back of a chair, and meekly stepped out the door. Caroline, indignant, followed. "Hey, mister, just a minute here!" she began hotly. "Bashful was genuinely sick this afternoon. You must be some kind of cruel slave master to make a poor sick man work even when he can't keep his food down! Shame all over you!"

A ragged chorus of snickers and giggles erupted from the doorway behind them, and they looked around to find Dopey, Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy, Grumpy and Happy crowded into the small space again, unabashedly watching. Caroline lost her temper completely at that. "You nosy little rats, get back inside and shut the blasted door!" she shouted. "Aren't there any cookies left for you mini-hogs to scarf down?"

Even Grumpy looked astonished at her outburst, and for once Happy had an expression on his face that wasn't happy at all. Sleepy yawned. "Might as well," he said. "This is putting me to sleep anyway, and I didn't get my nap today." Reluctantly the dwarves backed into the cottage and shut the door.

"Much better," said the supervisor in a curiously warm voice, removing his hat and a bushy gray fright wig. "Thank you, Miss Shaw."

"Mr. Roarke!" Andy and Caroline exclaimed.

Roarke grinned. "It appears you two have made enough of an acquaintance that you feel comfortable coming to Mr. Holloway's defense," he remarked to Caroline.

Caroline shrugged. "Aw, well…"

"She's a good egg, Mr. Roarke," Andy spoke up. "And you know something, I think we both got the fantasy we wanted—even if it turned out differently from what Caroline was looking for, and even if I didn't know I was looking in the first place."

"Excellent," said Roarke, looking very pleased. "Shall we?" He gestured at the path behind them.

"Yeah, let's go back," Caroline agreed. "I think I've had just about enough of this silly fairy tale anyway. You?"

Andy nodded. "Enough for a lifetime. Wait till Tessa hears this."

§ § § -- September 27, 1999

Roarke and Leslie watched Caroline Shaw and Andy Holloway stroll towards the plane, hand in hand and clearly very happy. "So it seems Miss Shaw's fantasy came true after all," Roarke said, "however unexpectedly."

"Suits me," said Leslie cheerfully. "I like her ending much better than the original." Roarke laughed agreement and patted her shoulder.  
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_Coming next will be a tale involving Christian…who has a shock for Leslie. Good or bad? … stay tuned!_


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